


A Fete Worse than Death

by Mary_West



Series: The After War years of Lucius Malfoy [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drawing Room comedy level, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_West/pseuds/Mary_West
Summary: A year after the events of "Still Life with Dogs", Lucius does the "Lord of the Manor" part. But the local villagers think they've worked out his secret identity. And the local widow knows a single man when she sees him. Lucius Big Bang 2011





	A Fete Worse than Death

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Chapter 1

________________________________________

"I know who he is."

"Who?"

"That bloke. In the old manor house up the hill. Done it up all right last few years, he has. Cleaned up the pond, thrown in some peacocks."

"So?"

"So what sort of smarmy git ponces around with long hair, cloaks, and a pair of bloody wolfhounds?"

"I dunno. Some sort of film star? One of those aristocratic types what just got their money and want to splash it around? We had that barmy Viscount a couple of years back in the old Entrecote place. You remember - drove through the village in a rickshaw while wearing nothing but an old Eton tie."

The gaffer leaned on the bar of the _Dancing Bear_ in Wilton, cradling his pint of Old Mortmaw Stout and peering from under eyebrows so bushy they seemed to be small furry animals. "Young Frederickson, yes, I remember him. No, this one isn't bonkers. Just strange. But he's not been in any of the films _I've_ seen. So I reckon he's not a film star."

His drinking companion, a stout farmer from nearby Grafton, lifted his own mug of Fairybones Light Ale and peered into its depths, the odd drifting particle holding his attention. "And, that's because you only watch the westerns and the action flicks."

"That is as mebbe, Sam. But he ain't had any of them film starlet types up there either. Just a bunch of dubious types in long robes turning up at night year before last, just afore he shut hisself up looking like summat the cat dragged in. You remember a couple of years before that, too, he wasn't around for a while. Then he turned up as scruffy as your Uncle Albie, looking like he'd just spent a stint in the Scrubs. Mebbe he were in one of them rehab places. Drugs I reckon, or the drink. Ain't that what them celebrity types do?"

"If he's a celebrity, then I'm Baby Spice. There's been no news cameras, no reporters hiding in the bushes outside nor trying to pump us for information by buying us drinks, more's the pity. But I see your point. So if he's not one of them film types, what is he? And how come you've noticed all of a sudden?"

The gaffer looked a little shifty and drained his pint, placing it in front of Sam and raising a meaningful eyebrow. "A man's got to keep up with the neighbourhood goings-on. Anyways, old Mrs Lonsdale saw them odd types going in and out two years back, and _she_ reckons they're his managers, or tour guys. And then they started having wild parties in the middle of the night – strange lights and screaming songs that sound like banshees until the local kids reckoned there was a ghost in there."

Sam finished his own drink and beckoned the barman, who put two more mugs in front of the villagers and then went back to polishing glasses. Andy lifted his second pint of the day, took a sip then wiped the foam off his lip with the back of his hand. "Ahhh, a good drop that. Bless the day George here switched to buying that local brew from those London kids. And bless 'em for starting …"

"Get on with it, Andy. Who _is_ the guy?"

Andy took one more sip, refusing to be pressured. Finally, he beckoned for Sam to lean in, and whispered "My Suzie worked it out, but. They was organising a comeback. All them weirdos? Band mates. He's a rock star. And she's worked out who he is."

"Go on then."

"He's the lead from the _Soft Serves_."

"The who?"

"Nah, they were from the sixties. No, the _Soft Serves_ , one of them Glam Rock types with the long hair and the glitter and flares – used to send the girls crazy. My Suzie had a record of them doing the _Candy Cane Bop_ , and … oh, what was it … _Dance Hall Attack_. She used to think they were so tough, and they was really such a bunch of nancy boys. But it's him, she thinks. Scott Brians. Lead singer. Used to wear glittery pants so tight you could … well, you'd never catch me in them."

"Cor. Imagine that." Sam looked through the window opposite, through which the road leading to the house in question could just be seen. "A real live rock star in the village. So do you think he'd do a concert up there at that manor? Raise money for the Church Roof or them African orphans?"

"He might." Andy drained the end of the pint and put it down, then hoisted his frame off the bar stool and picked up his hat. Suddenly he froze, then ducked behind one of the large beams that held up the ceiling of the old building. "By all that's holy, that's that Fullaghar cow and she's on the bloody warpath again."

"Sounds like you're afraid of her." Sam snickered quietly and sipped his drink.

"She's after me to pay damages."

"Damages? What the heck for?"

"Her bloody dog crashed through my hedge the other day chasing a quail or something, and got hisself scratched. And now she's blaming _me_ for it."

Sam watched as the dumpy pepper pot figure walked briskly past the pub, pausing only while the dog with her peed on the front doorstep. To Andy's relief, the pair then continued past and up the road the drinkers had been looking at earlier. "Nah, you're safe this time. But she's got a look I wouldn't want to be facing, that's for certain. I'd say your rock star might be having a visitor in the next few minutes."

"Poor man. Maybe she's an old fan."

"Not her. Not her style. But I don't envy him one bit, for all that he probably had his share of groupies when he was young. Right, I've got a pig to pick up. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, Andy. You watch out for yourself, too. You're not as young as you used to be."

The gaffer's response was a rude hand gesture as he stomped off out the door.

________________________________________

Chapter 2

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Lucius Malfoy, wizard, writer, dog owner and ex-Death Eater, was unaware of the interest he had stirred in the minds of the locals.

The Manor had become more and more obvious to Muggles over the past year, a result of both the lessening of the concealment charms on it, and the edict from the Ministry that Wizards were no longer to be completely isolated from the Muggle world. Luckily the villagers had assumed that the gradual appearance of whole rather than ruined buildings were a result of renovations being undertaken by the resident recluse.

This did however have the small disadvantage of bringing Lucius more into contact with the locals than he had thought possible. First Mrs Harris, his cleaning lady (and a squib) had met him one day while he was walking the wolfhounds, and took him to the local cafe for morning tea. He had enjoyed sitting in the sunshine and watching the passers-by alternate between avoiding the huge shaggy dogs or coming up and making a fuss of them. He also realised that this might well be the end of the dogs' careers as Guardians of the House - any observant thief would know by now that for the price of a quarter-pound of bacon, the dogs would sell their souls and be anyone's willing slaves.

While Antonia and Drusus, the wolfhounds, were no longer qualified to keep out intruders, the peacocks were excellent at alerting people to the presence of strangers on the grounds. Their strident calls could be heard from almost anywhere within the house, so when James, Vicar of St Hogglehills Church finally decided to pay a visit to the Manor, Lucius had plenty of warning and could ensure that Gardie, the new House-Elf, did not answer the door.

The vicar was a quiet man who had taken a country parish to try and rest his nerves after a nasty stoush with a bishop who did not believe in charity and love. He was very pleased to see that the resident of the old house on the hill looked quite normal, if blessed with a wonderful quantity of hair, and wondered why he had never made the effort to walk up the long drive beforehand. The reception he received, though, made his head ache. That someone seemingly British born could have no concept of the Church of England was very odd. James hoped for an invitation into the old stone building, but was surprised to find himself walking out of the gates at the bottom of the drive instead not five minutes later, with no real memory of what had transpired in the meeting. Meanwhile, a rather confused House Elf was being told in no uncertain terms that she was to stay _completely_ away from the local Muggles.

Shortly afterwards Lucius settled himself in the worn armchair that he refused to have recovered, and opened the _Daily Prophet_ to check that his most recent column had been printed unaltered. His fresh tea steamed at his elbow, and a plate of home-made shortbread attested to the skills of his new domestic help. Luckily the awkward incident at the Art Show the previous year had had no long-term effect. Relationships with Narcissa were now at the "cordial friends" stage with a possibility of further improvement, and Draco had kept his position as a Law Clerk and was considering a career applying these skills in one of the more legalistic branches of the Ministry of Magic at some time in the future. And his positive reports of the artwork had been well received by the Prophet, while the invasion of the party by a pair of _staaaaaarving_ wolfhounds had somehow not been reported to the paper.

Lucius had just reached the _"Wizards and Witches Home and Life"_ section when the doorbell rang once more and the wolfhounds propelled themselves off the hearth rug and along the corridor, baying like the hunting creatures they were. Lucius pulled himself out of his chair and headed for the door, yelling at the dogs as he went. Luckily their enthusiasm lasted only as long as they realised he might have left his shortbread unattended, and they bounded back down the hallway as Lucius opened the door.

"Yes?"

To his surprise, the figure standing on the path was not a Wizard, although she bore more than a passing resemblance to Dolores Umbridge. The ruched hat balanced on the mound of blue-rinsed curls looked more like an old-fashioned bathing cap, and had the effect of making the round face even more rounded. Worse still, the frumpy coat made of expensive yet badly-cared-for fabric gave the woman an air of eccentricity more commonly seen in Diagon Alley. Most surprising, though, was the silence of the peacocks. Lucius looked over the lady's shoulder, but couldn't see them anywhere.

"Good afternoon. I am Mrs Felicia Fullaghar, of Herbert Hall."

She held her hand out to him, but he had no intention of touching her. Her skin looked greasy and grubby, and she probably had some sort of Muggle dermatitis. Then she stared at him, obviously expecting something. Finally, Lucius broke.

"Are you looking for something?"

"Am I addressing the owner of the Manor House?"

"You are. Lucius Malfoy. Can I help you, madam?"

"Yes you can. For some time..." As she launched into her obviously-prepared speech, Lucius noticed a commotion coming from the side of the house, a high-pitched yelping and the screaming of large birds. Peacocks, to be exact.

"For some time the residents of Wilton have wished to reintroduce the Village Fête which used to be held with great success in the grounds of the church." Her voice started increasing in both pitch and volume, attempting to drown out the confusion that was approaching. "But since the collapse of the sewer lines _in the middle of the church field, the place has become unsanitary_... WILLIAM WILL YOU SHUT UP AND COME HERE YOU NAUGHTY BOY!"

Although it bruised Lucius's eardrums and shook the outside of the house, her scream had one very positive note. The yelping and the bird noises ceased, and around the corner trotted a rather smug looking small white fluffy mophead, obviously a recent escapee from a handle.

Mrs Fullaghar reached down and picked up the creature, patting its head and calling it sweet names as she pulled a handful of broken white feathers from its mouth. "Oh William, you silly silly doggie. You don't need to eat those birdies. Mummy will buy you a lovely big bone and a tin of Precious Paws on the way home. Now stay." She put the dog down and it immediately ran off back around the corner. Lucius braced for the expected resumption of the conflict, but this time all stayed quiet as Mrs Fullaghar launched back into her spiel.

"As I was saying before your wretched birds interrupted me, the field beside the church has become unsanitary, and we're looking for somewhere else to hold the fête."

"And what, pray tell, does this have to do with me, madam?"

Lucius Malfoy had not held his many sinecures without perfecting the supercilious look and the cold sneer, but this time he was up against someone far more used to cold and brutal social climbing. She moved closer and closer to him, until finally he was forced to step backwards to avoid getting her hat caught in his nose. The slightly unwashed scent about her had him turn slightly, and she took full advantage of this to push past him and walk into the hall, the first Muggle to walk there without invitation or abduction in over a hundred years.

________________________________________

Chapter 3

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By the time Lucius realised what was happening and strode back down the hall, his intruder had settled herself in _his_ favourite arm chair, and was looking expectantly at him. He looked back at her with complete puzzlement, until she turned her gaze to the empty tea-cup on the table beside her, then back to him. The staring contest once more carried on until Lucius finally broke it.

"If you are expecting refreshments, madam, I must warn you that we do not have any permanent staff here at Malfoy Manor."

"Oh!" She sounded quite disappointed, as if she had been expecting a great contingent of uniformed lackeys to attend to her every need. "That as may be, Mr Malfoy, but surely you have some assistance to help keep this place in order?"

"Whatever grandiose ideas you have, forget them. I have a daily help who is hard-pressed to keep the dust down in the areas that she can get to, and my son and I manage the cooking and some of the less complicated tasks, but I am no grandee with a huge staff."

In truth, Lucius was becoming ashamed of the state the Manor was falling into, but without a much higher income or the acquisition of another few House Elves, there was little he could do about it. The roof had sprung a leak over the conservatory, and the plants inside were spreading everywhere and had started rustling in a most alarming manner so that he tended not to go in there any more without carrying a set of hedge clippers in defence. There was rot in the woodwork near the back door. The garden was starting to show serious signs of neglect. The mud in the entranceway would not clean itself up, and Gardie the new House Elf could just cope with the housework created by two bachelors living in a building big enough for them and another twenty people. Even shutting off half the rooms, their furniture covered in dust sheets and the carpets taken up and stored, had not reduced the level of housework to something that could be managed by an eager minion and the attentions of Mrs Harris, their "daily".

At that point there were footsteps outside the door, and Draco walked in, a pile of parchment in his hands. "Father, I believe we should reconsider using the basement d… oh, how do you do?"

The last year in the employment of _Murray, Becket and Gibsons_ had taught Draco a great deal about things that weren't an actual part of the legal side of business. Assessing a client and getting them on-side, working out what you could get out of them, and making them feel as if you were doing them a favour in the process were but three of the extra skills and abilities he had learned, and there were certain advantages to being a young, good-looking and well-spoken young man. Draco had had enough experience with sociopathic biddies with delusions of grandeur to recognise one on sight, and with hand outstretched he turned the charm up to eleven and walked over to her.

"Draco Malfoy. How lovely to meet you."

Mrs Fullaghar positively _simpered_ , and blushed as Draco took her hand and bent over it. "Why, you dear boy, I am Mrs Fullaghar, but _you_ may call me Felicity. And I was just explaining to your father there why you should volunteer to hold the next Village Fête in your wonderful grounds."

Draco pulled up a stool and sat beside her, ignoring the death glares from his father across the room. "A fête? It sounds wonderful. Just what would be involved?"

"Well, we'd have it in August, in about ten weeks when the weather is fine, although you can't really guarantee that, can you? And there would be White Elephant stalls, and donkey rides, and tombola and a competition for the best roses and the biggest marrows…" She prattled on for some time, Draco making appropriate encouraging noises, until she ran out of breath and ground to a halt.

Lucius, who had been watching all this from the fireplace, noticed a certain hardness in his son's face, and realised suddenly that this wasn't some sort of rebellion – Draco obviously had a plan, and this woman was going to be the centrepiece of it. As Mrs Fullaghar drew breath, Draco spoke up, his voice now sounding more regretful than Cornelius Fudge ever had.

"Oh. Dear."

"Oh? Is there a problem?" The older woman suddenly looked doubtful. "Some reason why this wouldn't work?"

"Only that … no, it's too much to trouble you with."

"Tell me, my boy." She peered into his face and her voice was the very soul of caring motherhood. Lucius watched fascinated, knowing that a quick expression of cunning had flashed across Draco's face moments before, and that their uninvited visitor hadn't noticed a thing.

"Well, since Mother left us …" Draco paused, looking suitably downcast.

"Left you?"

"My parents are separated. And Mother was the one who kept this place running. The state of the house, the dust … the garden was her _special_ area, and we've no-one to look after it now." Draco somehow managed to now look as if it was his deepest regret that the lawns were no longer beautifully manicured. Once more Lucius spotted a rapid glance from his son at the woman being stage-managed with a deft hand that he hadn't realised his son possessed, and he decided to remain silent and let Draco finish the job. Currently the bait was being dangled, the hook nicely hidden, all it would take is a nibble from her …

"Separated? How sad." Mrs Fullaghar looked sympathetically at Draco, then threw a fast glance herself at Lucius. "Then you are missing the female touch here, I take it."

Lucius nodded, then started. Her look at Draco might have been one of someone feeling sorry for the young man, but her look at _him_ had been nothing short of predatory.

"We are coping perfectly well, thank you."

"Father, you're very loyal, but we must face the truth. Of all the parts of the house that miss Mother's touch, the garden is by far in the worst condition." Draco looked back at Mrs Fullaghar who reluctantly dragged her attention from his father. "There is no way we could hold any sort of function on the grounds while they are so badly neglected. It would take _weeks_ of work to get them back to a condition I'd feel comfortable with. And I work full time and my father hasn't been in the best of health these last few years …"

The silence hung in the drawing room, broken only by the distant sounds of dogs barking. Mrs Fullaghar's brows wrinkled, then suddenly she jumped up, startling the wizards.

"Such nonsense! Why, I could send my team around here and they'd have ten weeks to get it under control. More than enough time!"

"Your team, Mrs Fullaghar?" Lucius, alarmed at the prospect of even more Muggles on the property, started towards her. She, though, was not to be stopped by such a minor matter as the disapproval of a middle-aged wizard.

"My team. I have an arrangement with the local Employment Board, where they send me a cadre of young people who are in need of skills, and my gardener teaches them how to look after a property's grounds. And I could certainly lend them to _you_ for a few weeks to bring things up to scratch." She gathered up her handbag, and sailed towards the door. "No need to thank me. I'll send them around tomorrow morning, and you can show them what needs doing. Shall we say Saturday August the seventh for the fête, from ten until three?" And without waiting for a reply, she walked briskly down the hall and out the front door, calling for her dog as she did so.

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Chapter 4

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Draco walked over to the sideboard, while Lucius glared at him.

"And just what in Merlin's name were you doing there, if I might be so bold as to ask?" the older wizard said. "Village fête? White elephants on my lawn? Tombola stalls? And what is Tombola?"

"Licenced gambling, Father. But you missed the main point."

"Which is?"

"I just arranged to have a team of labourers plus a trained gardener spend ten weeks working on the grounds without having to outlay a Knut. The only thing we have to do in return is to let her hold her silly Fête."

"With elephants."

Draco poured himself a small Firewhiskey, and a slightly larger one for his father. "It's just an expression for something that's worthless to the seller. Bric-a-brac. We could donate some of those old vases in the back room."

" _White_ elephants?"

"I'll explain another day. But Father?"

Lucius sipped his whiskey and waved his hand at Draco to continue.

"You need to be careful."

" _I_ need to?"

"Didn't you see her face when she found out you were single?"

"Oh. That. Yes." At that, Lucius drained his glass and held it out for a refill. "Remind me never to get caught alone with her. Now I know how Nagini's prey felt as she approached." He shuddered, and Draco made certain the glass was filled to the brim before returning it.

"It shouldn't be too hard. I'll work out a rough layout, and we'll invite her back to afternoon tea next week and make sure we're clear on what goes where and when. And I've made it clear we have no available help, so she'll have to find lackeys to do all the manual labour. But you will have to do some work too."

"Oh?"

Draco laughed. "You'll probably have to declare the fête open, give the prize for the biggest cucumber and the prettiest goldfish, and walk around the entire place being recognised as Lord of the Manor, with all the appreciation that comes with that onerous duty. You'll be asked to test the butter cakes and throw wet sponges at the vicar. And everyone will say how wonderful it is for you to give your time, money and effort, when all you will have done is to stand there and look aristocratic."

Lucius sauntered over to the mirror and preened, then turned back to his son. "Did I ever mention how resourceful you've become? I think I can manage all of that, if you're willing to deal with that woman."

"We had better stipulate that there's no access to the Manor. Otherwise we'll have every man and his dog wanting to use the lavatory and falling into the dungeon instead."

"Dog? That reminds me – where are those two?" Lucius headed for the door, but at that moment the wolfhounds ran in past him, and settled themselves beside the fire. This might not have been noteworthy, but the quantity of mud tracked in by the beasts once more showed the decrepit nature of the garden. Doubtless there was once more a mud hole beside the pond that was of a size to accommodate two overheated extra-large dogs. Lucius shook his head, then looked towards the table where his cup of tea now sat cold and uninviting. Beside it, an empty plate was coated in a thin but unmistakable layer of drool.

"Bugger."

Three weeks later, things were definitely looking better. The squad of unemployed youth who had been coerced into doing the garden work under false pretences had already cleared the brambles beside the house, removed the donkey rhubarb from around the pond and had made excellent inroads into the Conservatory. Draco had supervised the first tentative excursions into that area, and a few quiet Unforgivables onto the most sentient of the plants had at least meant that the number of garden workers that went home that night matched the number who had gone in that morning. Finally the loose shingles on the Conservatory roof had been nailed down, and only one of the trainees had fallen off in the process (into a Hydrangea which was still looking rather battered).

Lucius suggested letting Mrs Fullaghar inspect the Conservatory before it had been tamed, but Draco managed to dissuade him on the basis that while her body would make excellent compost, they would have to deal with her clothes. Once more Lucius allowed that his son had sense, and forbore from taking the obnoxious woman into the hothouse until the worst of the man-eating plants had been eradicated.

Mrs Fullaghar came up to the house every Saturday to liaise with Draco on the logistics of the fête. William the White Fluffy Blob ran off to play in the garden, and his owner waddled along the hallway and settled herself in the old armchair while Draco brought over the folder he had created for the event. As he confided to his father later, the legal firm he was working with had had a stationery clear-out, and more than a few of the older leather binders had made their way to Malfoy Manor, where they had come in handy for organising all sorts of interesting papers. Even Lucius's writings were now neatly bound and filed, filling one of the library shelves in a very satisfying manner.

Lucius himself had decided that the less he saw of Mrs _"I'll hint as much as possible that I'm also single"_ Fullaghar the better, and made it his new habit to take a walk down to the village, leaving just after she had disappeared into the Manor. He had regained much of his strength now, although he still limped a little when he was tired. He had also become quite fond of the little hamlet that had probably been established when the Manor was first built. Certainly the records he had found in a back room indicated that more than a few Muggles had provided services to the Manor in the early days, before the Malfoys had obtained their first House Elves.

On this particular Saturday, four weeks before the Fête, Lucius strolled down the main road of the small village, past the _Dancing Bear_ and into the _Lonely Dane_. Unlike the _Bear_ , this one boasted a small yet elegant lounge, and a rather pleasant beer garden with a view over the river, luckily upstream of the sewerage works. Lucius stopped at the bar long enough to order a glass of their best ale and a ploughman's lunch (with cheese made on the premises – he was starting to appreciate these Muggle abilities), then headed through to the garden and a favourite seat beside a wall covered in sweet peas. He sat back and allowed the drone of the bees to calm him, forgetting as well as he could the stress that rose from just _seeing_ that woman.

A few moments later Ted the barman bustled out, carrying a cold glass that was beading up in a most enticing manner. "Good seeing you again, Mr Malfoy. We've a nice summer pudding thanks to the early raspberries, if you're interested." He set the luncheon plate down and then gathered some glasses from another table.

Lucius devoured the lunch – while both he and Draco had expanded their cooking repertoire over the past year, it was still bachelor cooking, and often bereft of fresh vegetables and light salads. As the barman cleared his plate, Lucius ordered a second glass of ale and spent the next little while watching a nearby kitten trying to catch the end of a tendril of jasmine that was dangling off the wall.

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Chapter 5

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Half an hour later, the barman brought out a tray with two large mugs of a darker brew on it. "This is our latest brew, Mr Malfoy. We'd be obliged if you could try it and give us your honest opinion." He passed one glass to Lucius, settled himself in a nearby chair and sipped on the second one.

Lucius held the mug up to the light, the dark amber fluid glinting in a most enticing manner. "What type of beer is this?"

"It's a lager. Made with honey and hops and some of the local oats, but I might have gone a little overboard with the honey." Ted took a decent swig. Lucius followed suit, and was surprised to find himself draining the glass. He put it down and patted at his lips with the napkin still left from lunch.

"I can only barely taste the honey." Lucius smacked his lips thoughtfully. "The oats, definitely. It's not too sweet, if that's what you're worried about."

Ted smiled. "Any extra sweetness inside it would have turned to alcohol by now. That's quite a strong drop, is that. You weren't going to drive home?"

"Merlin, no. It's a short walk, and I don't drive." Lucius leaned back in his chair, and Ted saw his chance to find out the truth behind the rumours he had heard.

"Nice to have a quiet weekend. You're a writer though, aren't you?" Lucius nodded, and Ted felt emboldened to continue. "But you weren't always writing, I'm thinking. What was it you did for a living before?"

Normally such questions would have had Lucius bristling, but the warm sun, strong ale and excellent food had relaxed the normal predator instincts, and he felt disposed to give a reasonable answer. After all, as Draco had advised him most sternly, he needed to keep these Muggles on side.

"I was a member of a select group."

Ted closed his eyes to better remember the poster on his friend's wall; a tall skinny man with long blond hair, clutching a microphone and simpering. "Their lead?"

"You might say that." Lucius hoped the shade of the Dark Lord wouldn't come back to haunt him for that one, but it was a reasonable statement, in his mind. "We were … pretty famous in certain select circles. Mind you, not everyone liked our style."

"That was back in the seventies, wasn't it?"

Lucius found it surprisingly hard to define the exact dates. "Yes, the seventies. An odd time. A time of change and innovation, although some of it… " He grimaced, remembering the disasters when the Dark Lord's curse had rebounded off that Potter brat.

The barman, thoughts going to the rise of skinheads and Thatcherism, nodded in agreement. "Wasn't really my sort of thing either, but I think I heard of your lot."

"Really?"

Ted dredged up the memories of nights watching _Top of the Pops_ , a bunch of long-haired glitter-clothed effeminate men bouncing around wielding shiny guitars and singing about Christmas and girls and tigers. It was time to take the tiger by the tail, so to speak – or the feet, perhaps. The ale was beginning to get to him too.

"Weren't you _Slade_?"

Lucius heard this as "Slayed", and waved a hand vaguely in a negative fashion. "Obviously not, if I'm still here."

"Oh." Ted searched his mind – did he mean those stars who had died young, or the ones who had scarpered off to foreign climes to avoid the tax. "What about _Mud_?"

Lucius's brain, addled as it was by the alcohol and warmth, could still recognise certain words. "NEVER!" Ted refilled his glass from a jug he had brought out, and Lucius took another long drink. "We had shome class. We had shtyle. Wanted a better … better… " And he waved his hand expansively to encompass the world, and only just avoided knocking over a potted shrub nearby.

"Was it your lot who wanted it to be Christmas every day, then?" Ted thought he had it nailed, but Malfoy shook his head. The influx of Death Eaters at one particular Christmas had spoiled that holiday for ever for some families. He still regretted what had happened to the Longbottoms.

"No, that washn't ush Wizards. We were … "

"Not _Wizzard_. Cool. I'll get it in a moment."

The beer was really hitting Lucius hard, and memories of those years and the times they had had wandered through his aching head. "Severus. Sorry, Severus. Waz ush. Shouldn't." He realised that the beer had done what beer does best, and pushed himself to his feet. "Please 'scoooooze me."

Ted watched Lucius walk in an almost-straight-line to the pub's loo, and smiled to himself. " _Soft Serves_. I should have asked straight out, but that's what he finally said. Andy was right." And he cleared the drinks up and wiped down the table, noting that perhaps the alcohol level in the beer was a little too high.

Lucius stared at his face in the mirror, barely able to focus. He filled his hands with water and splashed his face, the cold bringing back _some_ sense, but not a lot. _Home. I should go home. And not drink Muggle beer_.

It was a long stagger up the road, but by nearly shutting his eyes against the glare, and bouncing off the hedges on each side, Lucius made it to the front gate and through without any serious damage. The dogs bounded up with gleeful abandon, aware that the master had been for a walk without them and wanting him to remedy this deficit, but he pushed them away with a growl.

"Honestly, Antonia, Drusus, you're the most annoying canines in hist… GERROFF YOU LITTLE GIT!"

This last was addressed to William, who had run up behind the larger dogs and was now attempting to mate with Lucius's left leg. In his inebriation, Lucius kicked hard, and the small dog was torn from his grip and propelled with great (and surprising) accuracy into a now-beautifully sculptured lavender bush. Its yelps of annoyance (for it wasn't hurt) drew the wolfhounds back to it, and Lucius took advantage of the interruption to make his escape to the house. He staggered slightly at the front door, and was caught behind it as it opened and Draco and Mrs Fullaghar came out. Shrill tones travelled through his head and bounced around deafeningly between his ears as the visitor called her dog, then she turned to Draco.

"Do tell your father I'm sorry to have missed him. He would be very welcome to come to tea at the Hall one evening – and you too, of course. You have my telephone number?" Lucius froze and prayed that nothing would reveal his concealment.

"I do, and thank you. I'll ask Father when he comes home."

She took a small handkerchief from her bag and touched it to her eyes. "So sad for your father to be all alone like this. I see the loneliness in his eyes. Since my husband died, it's been quiet at the Hall, too. I have no children, and none of the nieces and nephews ever visit. Perhaps I could help ease his desolation a little. Two single, solitary, intelligent and well-respected human beings could help each other a great deal."

Lucius shuddered, the alcohol in his system only increasing the terror in his heart. He barely registered that Draco and Mrs Fullaghar had walked down the driveway and that she had finally collected William, who was looking very tired and pleased with himself as well as being covered in mud. Once they had disappeared past the yew trees, he slipped around the door and down the hallway. He sought refuge in his favourite chair and called for the House Elf to deliver coffee – hot and strong.

Draco walked back in five minutes later, a very wicked look on his face.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Draco, I know that look. You're plotting. Stop it. And if it involves matching me up with that disgusting grubby self-aggrandising overblown Muggle, so help me I'll tie you to the greenhouse and use you for _Crucio_ practice." Lucius put his head in his hands and groaned as Draco laughed, the sort of wicked laugh that is usually best done while holding a fluffy white cat.

Finally Draco calmed down enough to speak. "Oh Father, I knew you'd heard that. I could hear you trembling behind the door. _Loneliness in his eyes_ my foot – any husband of hers would look first harried, then haunted, then completely lifeless."

"That's enough, and you don't have to laugh quite so loud either. Gardie! Where is that wretched minion?"

Draco fetched a large glass of water from the sideboard and shook a couple of tablets out of a tube he had in a pocket. Dropping the large orange tablets into the water, he handed it to his father and then patted his shoulder. "One thing you learn when dealing with Muggle legal firms is how to cope with over-indulgence. Drink this once the fizzing has gone down, and then two more glasses of water and you'll feel better."

"I might yet reconsider about the greenhouse, then." Lucius watched the strange orange liquid settle down, then sipped the resultant drink cautiously. Draco wisely left the room and returned five minutes later with a cup of strong coffee which his father drank with gratitude. "Your godfather would have been proud of that potion."

"He probably invented it. What were you drinking?"

"Experimental Muggle beer. Draco, if you ever go to the Lonely Dane, never accept any of the innkeeper's special brew. Although he knows enough about our world that he may be connected somehow." Lucius drank some coffee, then waved his hand towards the table covered with diagrams and schedules.

"Now tell me what you and the hag were discussing."

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Chapter 6

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The day of the fête started off with a slight morning mist, but by nine o'clock the sky was clear and the sun was threatening a serious burn to any who came out without sunscreen and a hat. Stalls had been erected over the previous week, mainly by the conscripts who had slaved so arduously over the garden in the last two months. The conservatory was converted into a tea-room, the pond sported a delightful display of irises, and the peacocks were displaying their tails to all and sundry.

Lucius stood on the small balcony that led off the main bedroom, and surveyed his domain. Even during the height of his hegemony the gardens had never looked so good, and since his first incarceration at Azkaban following that little misunderstanding at the Ministry of Magic, he had somehow never felt the need for immaculately kept lawns. Now, however, it was his due. His domain. His own.

Draco's voice behind him interrupted a pleasant daydream involving a horde of grovelling minions and the devotion of his loyal subjects.

"Father, you really ought to get dressed. People will be arriving soon to set up, and while that dressing gown is rather smart, I'm not sure you would want Mrs Fullaghar to see you in it. She might get ideas."

Lucius stepped back from the balcony in a hurry, but composed himself and strode into the bedroom with an air of supreme calm. "None of your cheek, my boy. You may have stage-managed this event, but I am the Master of the House and the centre of attention. Now where is my linen suit?"

Thirty minutes later the Lord of Malfoy Manor, clad in cream linen with a panama hat to match, strolled around the grounds and took note of the stalls and tents being set up. Draco had hired a diesel generator to provide power to the equipment (as the Manor had no such thing as an electrical socket), and by situating those items requiring power as far from the manor as possible, there was a good chance they might actually work. Certainly the jumping castle was inflating in a rather impressive manner, and the coffee stall had its first brew going and was doing a brisk business with the other stallholders. Draco had appropriated an early cup and Lucius was sipping cautiously on his first cappuccino and thinking he should probably add this to Gardie's list of approved beverages. (Gardie herself was confined to the castle, with instructions to confound sand lead to the outside back entry any Muggles foolish enough to try and enter the building.)

Nearly everything seemed perfect. The trestles for the biggest marrow and longest cucumber were set up under marquees in the back garden. All the rides that would engender screaming children were at the far end of the grounds, screened from the main house by the yew trees. Mrs Fullaghar would be so busy running around and making sure everything was going smoothly that she wouldn't have time to monopolise his attention. Or at least he hoped.

Lucius's main worry was the idea of a cake-judging competition. Not that he thought he would have any problems with it. No, it was the idea of having an entire structure filled with cakes and biscuits and scones and other delightful comestibles – and two wolfhounds running rampant around the property. Short of sending the dogs to a boarding kennel for the weekend, Lucius could not see any way clear to saving the food judging tent without resorting to some careful enchantments. This was why the previous evening he and Draco had circled the tent thrice and placed upon it a Cavete Canes enchantment that would make the tent completely repulsive to dogs. It was supposed to be animal-free anyway. The tea-room was set up in the other end of the same tent, and while a certain amount of latitude could be allowed, there weren't supposed to be dogs in a food-preparation area.

The other worry was the pet judging. Again, Lucius could see problems with two large wolfhounds, if they by any chance discovered that there would be CATS on the property. For once Lucius had joined the discussions with Draco and Mrs Fullaghar the previous Saturday, and they had agreed to hold the pet judging immediately prior to Lucius's speeches announcing the winners. This would hopefully minimise the amount of time for any issues to arise.

Like dogs.

Chasing cats.

Through tents and stalls and …

Lucius shuddered, and finished his coffee. Handing his cup back to the stallholder he put a warm hand on Draco's shoulder.

"This all looks marvellous. I believe perhaps you should consider some sort of organisational role in the future – surely there must be a market for it."

"There is. And I'm seriously considering it. Just don't go too near the pond, though. I'm afraid I ran out of ideas there."

"In what manner?"

"I wasn't certain that the other enchantments would hold, so I had the garden minions put up an enclosure for the dogs. If you listen very carefully, you'll be able to hear them whining. The dogs. Not the minions. They just grumble."

Lucius stopped and listened, and sure enough, borne on the light breeze that was wafting scents of cooking and flowers and pony dung, was the pathetic whining and occasional bark from the furry monsters. Lucius smiled and patted Draco. "Well done. Now I do believe I can really relax and try to enjoy this."

And he did. Armed with a supply of Muggle coins and a few notes, he threw balls at the coconuts (and missed), tossed 50p pieces onto saucers on goldfish bowls (and missed), aimed darts at balloons (and missed), and fired an air pistol at a small metal duck target (he missed, but cast a fast _Wingardium Leviosa_ on a fallen pellet and the target toppled over rather nicely. He won a stuffed monkey for that). Lucius discovered the meaning of the word "Tombola" and scored a miniature Stonehenge set. He watched as assorted children climbed on the back of bored-looking donkeys and were propelled up and down a patch of grass near the side wall. And he looked over the White Elephant stall, secretly relieved that it did not involve any _real_ elephants, and was surprisingly sad to see a pair of ugly candlesticks his aunt had given him on his wedding day bought with glee by Ted the barman from the _Lonely Dane_.

"Beautiful day, Mr Malfoy." Ted waved the candlesticks at him and grinned. "And there's some amazing junk to be had."

"Those candlesticks aren't _junk_."

Ted's face fell. "Begging your pardon, sir. Although you must admit they're not the pinnacle of fashion that they used to be." He then started grinning again, and had an unfathomable look on his face. "The rest of the day should be pretty interesting. You'll enjoy it, I'm sure."

Lucius merely waved, and headed around the back of the refreshment tent. Two minutes later his stuffed monkey and Stonehenge set were safe in the Manor (thanks to Gardie) and Lucius returned to the front of the tent. The piped music through the tinny speakers set up around the grounds had announced that the home-made goods competition was about to start, and he had his aristocratic duty to perform.

An hour later he staggered to a chair and accepted a cup of strong black tea from one of the waitresses. Draco joined him, accepting a cool lemonade instead. He glanced at his father's face, then looked away, wanting to give the older man time to compose himself.

"Draco? I think next time we'll delegate some of these tasks. I'm sure the Ministry has prisoners in need of cruel and unusual punishment."

"Some of those cakes did look rather dubious."

"Some of those cakes should have been included in the _Unforgiveable_ category. Mrs Palmer's sponge tasted as if it had been used to mop up soap, and as for that iced monstrosity…"

Draco suddenly assumed an air of innocent ignorance. "Which iced monstrosity?"

"Surely you saw it there." Lucius shuddered at the memory. "Three tiers, pink, with little red flowers all over the edges and a love heart in the middle. And which poor souls were intended by that lunatic-looped set of letters? I couldn't even see them clearly."

"How did it taste?" Draco's voice was choked.

"Ghastly. It was overly sweet and laden with some sort of alcohol. And it wasn't even cooked properly – half of the inside was still mushy."

"Would it help, Father, if I were to tell you that the initials were F, F, L and M?"

Lucius looked thoughtful. "F, F …" Draco chose that minute to escape, as he had spotted the cake's creator approaching, for once without her dog. His timing was excellent, as he was able to see both the hopeful predaceous look on Mrs Fullaghar's face and the expression of sheer terror in his father's as Lucius made the connection, just one moment too late to flee.

The shrill tones of the older woman had an effect not unlike fingernails down a blackboard. She had dressed in a bright pink linen dress and a hat that had probably started as a lovely summer concoction of flowers, but had been crushed and trodden on and bore little of its former glory. As she buzzed towards Lucius, Draco was reminded of nothing so much as an enormous pink blow fly homing in on its target.

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Chapter 7

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Lucius looked left and right, but there was no hiding. Crowds parted at Mrs Fullaghar's approach, and everyone else seemed to suddenly have a very good reason to be somewhere else. Lucius at least managed to stand, but had no hope of getting away as a grip as strong as any stevedore attached to his arm, and the odious woman started simpering at him.

"Oh I know you weren't supposed to find out who cooked which cake, but I can tell you enjoyed mine – you still have a scrap of icing on your lip." And to the horror of all those nearby, she pulled out a grubby handkerchief, spat on it and rubbed it on Lucius's face. He tried one more time to pull away, but the grip was just too strong.

His face screwed up into an expression of abject disgust, and he spoke with a voice that could have frozen a volcano at thirty paces.

"Just _what_ do you think you are doing, madam?"

"Why I'm … now don't you get all hoity with me, you silly man. It's only a spot, and it's off already. Besides, it's almost time for the pet judging." And, oblivious to his anger, she pulled him out of the refreshment tent and over to the trestles set up under the largest oak tree on the property.

By the time they arrived at the tree Lucius was hot and bothered, and had finally managed to shake his arm free from her grip. He re-arranged his face to one approaching "Lord of the Manor", and stopped to take a cool drink from a tray offered to him by Ted from the _Lonely Dane_ , who had managed to set up some sort of operation in probable contravention of the local Licensing Laws.

"My honey lager. I've toned it down a little – not so much punch as it had last time."

"Ted, you have my undying gratitude. How did you know?"

Ted jerked his head towards Mrs Fullaghar, now taking her place behind her precious William, who was arrayed on a red velvet cushion and quietly chewing on the gold tassels that hung from it. Lucius restrained his instinct to grab the cushion, dog and all, and hurl them into the pond. Instead he drained the lager in one long swallow and handed back the glass. Then he started at one end of the table and walked down slowly, inspecting all the pets displayed for his perusal.

Being used to the regular choices at Hogwarts – rats, owls, puffskeins, toads – Lucius wasn't sure what to make of the incredibly cute cocker spaniel puppies that tried to lick his face. He did try very hard not to notice the similarity between the fierce looking young girl and her equally-fierce looking Gerbil that tried to fang on his fingers. He strolled down the trestles, observing that the owners that looked as if they would hex him if he didn't declare them the winners were mainly adults, whereas those whose puppy dog eyes were as pathetic as their own pets were usually children. If he stopped to talk to one owner for more than a perfunctory "and who do we have here then?" he could feel the death stares from the other serious competitors. But he was Lucius. Ex-Death Eater. Brother-in-law to Bellatrix. He could handle having the Dark Lord live at the Manor for months, of _course_ he could handle a simple pet competition.

And there wasn't a chance in Hades that he'd give the prize to Mrs Fullaghar.

Once more he strode down the row, selecting a few of the better-behaved pets (and owners) as possibilities, then he asked for the clipboard with the list of entrants. Scribbling a few notes on it, he removed the list from the board and folded into his pocket. The supervisors around the table looked at him with shock, and Mrs Fullaghar left her post behind William the Fluffy and tottered over to him, wagging her finger in the manner of a schoolteacher berating a mischievous schoolboy.

"Now, now, Mr Malfoy. There's no need for secrets here."

"Ah, but there is, Mrs Fullaghar." He smiled, a particularly cruel smile that had been known to reduce Ministry officials to quivering heaps. "This is important. The integrity of the competition is at stake. I shall announce the winner during the Official speeches which are, I believe, in about twenty minutes." And he walked off, tipping his hat jauntily to lessen the glare from the afternoon sun.

Lucius calculated carefully – he had just enough time for a pint of Ted's best light ale (not the honey lager if he wanted to maintain his sobriety). The piles of cake and cheese and home-made chutneys had filled him completely; hunger was low on his mind but a cool drink would go down nicely. Ted had a little stall down near the pond where the shade was pleasant and those men whose wives were busy fluttering around the craft section could escape for a while and enjoy the beer in peace and quiet. Sauntering past the hoopla and the jam stall, he ducked under the edge of the willow fronds and up to Ted, who was already pouring a glass for him.

"Just enough time, Mr Malfoy?"

"You know your trade well, Ted."

Ted lifted his own glass and raised it in Lucius's direction. "It's been a very successful day, it has. Even with those banshees howling back there."

"Banshees?" Lucius listened, and realised that from here he could hear the howling of the forsaken wolfhounds, bereft of their master and not at all happy about being confined, not when there were _smells_ and _mud_ and _things to chase_! He wandered a bit further over, and could see Drusus standing on his hind legs leaning against the fence, and a couple of local brats daring each other to go up and pat him. They'd obviously worked out the best method of bribery, as one of them had a bacon roll and was using morsels of it to keep the beast happy. Of Antonia there was no sign, but Draco had arranged a shelter for the animals and from this direction Lucius couldn't see it. He assumed that she must have had the sense to get out of the sun.

The two children spotted Lucius watching them, and shamefacedly put the roll away and left the enclosure fence. Lucius drained his glass then passed it back to Ted, nodding his thanks.

"You all set for the big number, Mr Malfoy?"

"Number?" Despite the beer being only mid-strength it still went to Lucius's head fairly fast, augmented perhaps by the amount of sugar already in his system. "You mean my speech?"

Ted smiled shiftily. "Aye, your speech. Off you go, sir. We'll be listening from down here." And he waved at the loudspeaker in the tree just nearby, currently droning away at the Greatest Hits of 1988. Some anguished baritone was angsting about never giving up on his baby, never letting her down – and Lucius shuddered and was eternally grateful that Draco hadn't been at all interested in that sort of music. At least it wasn't as bad as the bunch of happily-together singing turtles that Muggles had enjoyed in _his_ youth.

Lucius wove his way back up the hill towards the podium set up near the front of the house, and stopped a moment to laugh at the sight in front of him. Mrs Fullaghar had taken William from the pets area, and was trying to get into the Refreshment tent with him. She might have been able to sneak past the doorway if William himself hadn't decided that this place was wrong. He was barking loudly and pulling as hard as he could in the opposite direction, his leash tangling in one of the outside tables. With a mighty effort he pulled so hard that his collar broke and he started running through the crowds and away from the spells that were repelling him so strongly. The rebound on the leash had caught Mrs Fullaghar completely by surprise, and she staggered backwards and into a waitress with a full tray of tea and scones, the pair ending up somewhere inside the tent with a loud crash. Lucius restrained himself from taking a closer look and, straightening his collar and hat, he sauntered up to the podium where a number of strange implements were being set up.

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Chapter 8

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Lucius was met by one of the garden minions who, he had found out, often worked as a sound engineer at a pub in Newbury on a Saturday evening. While never being quite game enough to ask exactly how one _engineers_ sound, Lucius had learned enough to realise that some sort of amplification of his voice would be necessary, and had been given a run-down of the steps necessary the day before. He allowed himself to be led to the podium where James the vicar was nervously shuffling a few pieces of paper and a sub-minion was adjusting the microphone set up at the front. What Lucius didn't understand was the function of the other microphones at the back of the podium with barely enough room to move in front of them, nor the appearance of a number of musical instruments on the grass at the front.

"Don't you worry, sir. You'll be right from here and you should still be able to hear the rest of them." Thomas patted Lucius on the shoulder in a very condescending manner, and Lucius wondered just what it was he was supposed to be worried about. The last drink had mellowed him in a very pleasant manner, and he was prepared to deal with anything the Fête could throw at him. He made his way to a chair that had been readied for him – one of the dining chairs from the Manor, in fact, looking less grand and rather more moth-eaten in the sunlight, but still very distinguished. Like him. Lucius. Distinguished wizard.

He was jerked from his reverie by the sound of his name and some polite clapping. The Vicar had just explained the magnanimous generosity of Lucius in allowing the use of the grounds, and the kindness with which he had granted permission for all sorts of activities that were bringing noise and excitement to the place. _If only they had been here two years ago, what noise and excitement they would have seen then._ Lucius wondered how these Muggles would have coped if Bellatrix had been striding around the Fête instead of Mrs Fullaghar. Speaking of which, where was she? The cow, not his sister-in-law.

Lucius was just standing to see if he could spot the pink shape, probably chasing after that ridiculous dog of hers, when there was a very loud burst of applause and the Vicar was directing him to the microphone. Lucius looked warily at the device, but it seemed exactly as it had been explained to him, and he took a deep (and sobering) breath and spoke into it with only a little trepidation.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure …" The speech was packed full of platitudes and cliches, and had been written by Draco (with little input from Mrs Fullaghar) to cover the basics of "Opening a Fête – a Beginner's Guide." Lucius paused at the end of the main section, allowed the applause to die down once more, then started into the prizewinners of the various competitions. He was pleased to see the vicar handing out the ribbons to the happy recipients.

Lucius had covered best roses, biggest marrow and bitey-est piccalilli and was just getting up to the cakes when he spotted Mrs Fullaghar, covered in mud, staggering up the hill towards the podium and looking as if she could kill someone. He turned to the vicar, but that Godly man had obviously had dealings with her before, and was trying to escape off the back of the podium before she got to them. Lucius sighed at the invertebrate nature of some people, and turned back to the microphone. Perhaps he could hold her off with a few well-chosen words.

"In the category of best cakes, special mention must be made of the magnificent effort put in by Mrs Fullaghar, whose pink and green creation was surely a wonderful representation of the Rites of Spring." There was a wave of laughter through the crowd, proving that he wasn't the only person who had shuddered at the sight of it. "However the most magnificent and delicious cake was the chocolate buttercake with the fractal sprinkle pattern on the top. My thanks to Thomas, our sound engineer, who explained to me what a fractal is. I believe the creator of that cake was Miss West." A slender, geeky looking redhead bounded up like a red setter, and cornered the vicar for her ribbon before he could escape. Mrs Fullaghar came closer, waving her arms and looking as if she was going to start screaming, her face becoming redder by the second. Lucius realised he had little time left before she got within range, so he launched into the last and most important competition prize.

"And finally, the prize for the best pet at the show. I had a hard time deciding..." He and Draco had written this part of the speech beforehand too, to make it sound as if he truly had struggled over the decision, even if he'd had the choice between an asthmatic mouse and a pet rock.

"Finally, in reverse order. Third place to the albino guinea pig owned by Miss Bourke." Polite clapping followed this.

"Second place to the Mexican Walking Fish owned by Mr Kreiger." A group of schoolboys started whooping and pounding one of their number hard on the back, and a hush fell over the rest of the crowd. Even Mrs Fullaghar stopped at the edge of the crowd to hear.

"And the first prize …" You could hear the leaves rustle, and a distant barking. "Captain Gordon, the white Persian, owned by Mrs Drummond." He had chosen the cat on the basis that if he were ever to decide to take over the Wizarding World, the cat had the arrogant attitude that would make it the perfect companion. That, and he recognised the look in its eyes as it stared at him then lay back and licked its paw with an air of total disregard for anything happening around it. There was a cheer from the contingent from the _Dancing Bear_ , as Mrs Drummond was the mother of George the barman. The rest of the crowd clapped, but a shriek from the middle quickly drowned out the rest.

"That _FILTHY ARROGANT CRAPPING CAT?_ You _dare_ to give the prize to that _bitch_ of an innkeeper instead of _my_ beautiful pedigree dog that is currently being _molested by your bloody mongrels_ AND YOU GAVE THE PRIZE TO A CAT?"

Lucius stood silently on the podium, and the silence spread out from him through the crowd as they parted to create a clear path between the two. Mrs Fullaghar stalked towards the podium with her hackles raised, her face and clothes covered in mud. Her voice screeched through the air like lemon juice on a paper cut, and people edged away from her in fear as she got closer and closer to Lucius.

"I helped you. I gave you _gardeners_ and helped you _plan_ this and I gave you _hours and hours_ of my precious time and I made you a _CAKE_ with all my wishes on it and you reward me by giving the prize to a _CAT?_ I had such _HOPES_ and you _played_ with my _DREAMS and destroyed them ALL!_ "

Lucius just let her approach, standing still like an anchor in a sea of madness. In the distance the sound of barking grew louder, but it was easily overcome by the rants of the thwarted woman. _"I GAVE YOU THE BEST I HAD, AND YOU JUST THREW ME ASIDE! HOW COULD YOU?"_

He waited until she ran out of steam, standing below him. Finally, silence fell. Deep silence, the sort that has everyone else waiting for something to happen. Then Lucius spoke, softly and clearly, and with no remorse whatsoever. The microphones picked up every last word as he spoke, and broadcast them around the fête.

"Madam, from the first day I have made it clear that this was not something I sought. I agreed to the fête because it would help the village. You insinuated yourself into my house, you forced your attentions on me – and you nearly poisoned me with that monstrosity of a cake. And as for that vicious little white half-breed cur you drag around..."

"WILLIAM IS BEING KILLED BY YOUR DOGS!"

The barking that had been coming from down by the pond now became clearer, and screams of terror started echoing from an area closer to where Lucius stood. As he watched from his elevated vantage point, he saw the crowd fleeing once more, this time from a large and hairy grey beast that was hurtling through the people towards the voice of its master.

Drusus, distraught after having been forcibly separated from the family, had grown even more berserk once fluffy white William had shown up around the enclosure. The plucky and intelligent Maltese terrier had worked his way _into_ the enclosure to play with his friends, and Drusus had located the hole and ripped it wide open to gain his freedom. Hearing Lucius's voice on the loudspeakers had confused him, but he knew the way back to the Manor, and as he got closer he spied Lucius and was now heading straight up the hill.

Like so many large dogs, Drusus the wolfhound was a dog of little brain. His thoughts could usually cover the family, the Manor, and not to eat the peacocks. It sometimes forgot the last part. But it was easily distracted by such important things as Cats, Food and _Smells_. As Drusus swung closer, he scented all three, with the largest contributor being the sickly-sweet overbearing smell of rose-flavoured icing covering half-baked fruitcake. Despite the care with which Draco and Lucius had laid the anti-dog enchantment, there was little chance of it working against a large and determined wolfhound. Drusus bounded up to the refreshments tent, through to the cake section, and stayed long enough to seize the top tier of Mrs Fullaghar's creation before tearing through the side of the tent.

His flight took him through the crowd near the podium. Lucius didn't dare use magic in such a setting, and had to watch in horror as Drusus approached. Mrs Fullaghar, perhaps in some vain hope of stopping the dog and saving that part of her cake, stood in the dog's path, her hands outstretched. She was a brave woman.

Foolhardy, solid, but brave.

You would think that a woman of her physique would be more than a match for a dog. But physics rarely takes into account the momentum engendered by a large dog powered by _CAKE_.

She didn't stand a chance.

One moment she was standing in the dog's path. The next she was on her back. The dog had bounded over her (dropping half the cake on her face in the process) and was disappearing around the back of the Manor to try to enjoy its booty in peace.

Several kind-hearted people rushed up to help Mrs Fullaghar, who was lifted gently to her feet and then guided away to be cleaned up and checked over. She was herself completely silent at this point, either from shock or from the huge amount of icing that had fallen on her. Brightest against her hair were the initials she had so hopefully created, the entwined "FF LM" falling over one ear.

And no-one laughed.

It wasn't the moment.

In silence, the crowd parted once more to allow her passage, and this time it was in commiseration. For the first time, she had the complete and total sympathy of nearly everyone who saw her go.

Lucius watched too, sorry that she had come to this pass, yet glad that the pursuit was now over. As he stood, two well-dressed men of about his age came up the stairs at the side of the podium, talking to each other. One seemed confused, and the other just annoyed, and the microphones picked up every word.

"And they said it would be a reunion?"

"That's what they told me."

From the other side Ted from the _Lonely Dane_ came up, clutching an old vinyl record, and looking worried. Lucius looked him over, and glared.

"I hope you have an explanation for this."

"I … don't think I do."

"Try." Lucius still had the ability to inspire immediate obedience, and it seemed to have worked. Ted looked to the other two, and winced.

"I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. You see, I thought you told me that you were once a member of the _Soft Serves_."

"The what?"

One of the men from the other side of him spoke.

"The _Soft Serves_. We were a Glam rock band back in the Seventies." Lucius assumed the most supercilious expression he could manage, possibly inspired by the prize-winning cat, as the man continued. "I don't understand, though. I _know_ where the rest of the band are, and he's not one of them."

Ted now looked stricken. "Not one of them? Not …" He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, and read out the name. "Scott Brians, lead singer?"

Lucius glared at him once more, and he cowered. "Hold on a moment." Rushing off stage, Ted came back with a large poster that showed the signs of spending the last twenty years on the walls of Suzie Russell's bedroom. He unrolled it, and those people close enough crowded close to see the almost-life-sized image of a young man with long blond hair, wearing a skin-tight glittery powder-blue jumpsuit and clutching a microphone. There was a _slight_ resemblance to Lucius, if you squinted very hard.

"Wasn't that you?"

Lucius looked at the picture, then at Ted, the drunken conversation in the pub's garden all those weeks ago starting to make some sort of sense. And yet not. His voice reached the stage of "icy" that almost has icicles hanging off it.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I am," said the man who had spoken before. "I'm Connor Andrews, and I used to play guitar in the band. But I know that this man isn't Scott."

Ted was obviously grasping at straws, looking at the band equipment he had hired and set up near them, and feeling a chance for a new career organising a come-back tour slipping away. "Are you … absolutely sure that isn't him?"

"I'm sure." Connor paused, glaring at Ted. "Scott died last year."

Lucius looked Connor over, then stared at Ted. "Are you quite finished? It has dawned on me that my other dog may be still running loose, and I should look for her." And he strode off the stage and left the men there to find their own solution. Ted put his head in his hands as Connor spoke with the other man.

"What do you think, Richard?"

"Well, the equipment's there. They've paid for you to be here. Maybe some sort of an Unplugged gig?"

A couple of the lads from the crowd came closer, looking at the poster still hanging from Ted's hands. They looked from the tattered picture of the young singer to the middle-aged men in front of them, and one of them finally plucked up the courage.

"Hey, are you a muso?"

"I am. You?"

"Play a bit. Older stuff mainly. Seventies Glam covers. D'ya wanna try a few licks?"

Connor thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Might as well. Ted, I can forgive you this idiocy if you could bring us a glass of something cold, and I'll see what these boys can do."

________________________________________

Chapter 9

________________________________________

Lucius strode down the hill to the enclosure, finding (as he expected) one entire wall pulled out of its fixings and sprawled on the ground. William sat in the middle of the grassy spot, scratching himself and looking rather tired and muddy. The fête was winding down, and Lucius carefully picked up the little dog and held him at arms' length. The little face looked up at him, hopeful of some food, but Lucius started back up the hill. There were sounds of a rather good acoustic group playing now from the front lawn, but Lucius wanted nothing more than a hot cup of tea and a bit of peace and quiet. He came around the end of the podium, watched the youths and the older man jamming away, then spotted the vicar at the side.

"An eventful day, eh?" James was watching the youths and tapping his foot along to the music. "We've made enough to look at having those pipes moved out of the church grounds, and some left over to perhaps get the roof fixed. Maybe we can even get this lot to play one night. Would you like to come?"

Lucius silently handed him William, and walked away.

The Manor was cool and calm and a welcome refuge after the events of the last few hours. Draco had been watching the whole from well back, and knew what was coming – he had a hot cup of tea ready beside Lucius's chair when his father came in, and was ready to deal with the storm.

But there was no storm.

Lucius just threw his hat onto a nearby table, removed his jacket and sat down for the tea. He drank in silence, looking over Draco, then back at the window. While no sounds came through (enchantments have their uses), the bright stalls could still be seen and once a lost balloon drifted past on its way to oblivion. Lucius finished his tea, then put the cup down and stood to look out the window at the activity.

"Was it worth it?"

Draco had an answer. He always did these days. But somehow the monetary aspect was not what he felt his father was looking for. Draco considered a few other possibilities, then replied.

"If you mean did we get our money's worth? Yes. Definitely. There's been hundreds, perhaps a couple of thousand Galleons of work done to the house and gardens, and while there will be some residual footprints and wear to the lawn, it will grow out in a few weeks. But we've gained much more than that."

"Have we?"

"We didn't come out of it a laughing stock." Lucius looked over at Draco, but his son continued, quite pleased with his analysis. "You've become a well-known and respected character in the village, honoured for making the sacrifice to let this fête go ahead. You handled the mistake about that rock band rather well. Ted feels like a bit of a drip but there's some amazing music going on out there, and there's no hard feelings. I checked."

"And the bat?"

Draco winced. "I'll go and see her later, when she's calmed down. I'll pat her hand and tell her that you still love Mother too much to look at any other woman. And I'll suggest she goes on a nice long holiday somewhere exotic to forget about you. She didn't love you, by the way."

Lucius looked back out the window. The light over the garden was golden, and the most of the people wandering around had smiles on their faces. "She didn't?"

"No. She saw you as a way to boost her own social standing, and she fooled herself into thinking there was something there. But she would have worn you like a fancy coat or a new artwork – she never would have wanted you for yourself. Just your title, your Manor, your status."

"We should introduce her to Slughorn. They'd get along swimmingly."

"They'd kill each other first, climbing over each other to get to the top."

Lucius laughed and relaxed, the tension of the earlier confrontation draining out of him. "The Vicar seems to think he'll be able to get the church fields fixed, so they'll be able to hold the fête there next year. Almost a shame – I enjoyed parts of it."

"I noticed." Draco came and stood beside his father and looked out at the crowds. A smart woman carrying a fluffy white cat in a carrier walked past the Manor, a blue ribbon proudly displayed on the side of the cage. "What made you choose the cat?"

"Recognition of excellence."

"It was the best choice you could have made. At least you didn't choose that horrid dog."

"That reminds me." Lucius clapped his hands, and Gardie the house-elf appeared.

"The Master is wanting something? More tea?"

"Where is Antonia? She escaped from the setup Draco had."

"Antonia is hiding in the hallway cupboard, Master. She is crying and won't come out."

"Merlin and Frith." The men turned and ran out the door, along the hallway to the cupboard in question. A trail of muddy footprints confirmed the house-elf's statement, and they paused a second before opening the door.

"Antonia?"

"What the … ?"

Inside lay on a pile of cloaks and coats pulled down from the hangers. On top of that lay the remains of the stuffing from a monkey toy whose purple fur had been discarded at the side like the skin of some bizarre mythical creature. Antonia had piled the balls of stuffing around her in a soft bed, and the reasons for this nest-making were gathered between her paws, their tiny squeaks barely audible. Draco squatted beside her, and the wolfhound looked at him and nuzzled one of the small bundles towards its first meal.

"How?"

"Draco, surely I don't need to teach you basic biology at this time."

"No, Father, that's not what I'm asking. It's … don't you see who the father must be?"

Lucius picked up one of the tiny bundles, the colour of their still-wet scruffy fur hard to determine. Certainly it had their mother's grey in it, but it was unlikely that the father was Drusus. It was too small, too light, too fluffy, too close in type to a mop...

"How in the name of all that's magic could that _misbegotten fluffball of fleas even_ MANAGE TO DO THIS TO MY ANTONIA?"

Antonia growled, and Lucius hurriedly put the puppy down with its three litter mates. Draco checked each puppy and then pulled his father back out of the cupboard and partly closed the door.

"Three boys and a girl. I had no idea."

"He'll have to take responsibility. _She_ will. Her rotten dog has defiled my beautiful pedigree wolf hound. What in heavens name _are_ these puppies?"

Draco grinned a little, delighting in stirring his father. "Moofhounds? Malt hounds? Werriers?"

"Bastards."

"But cute bastards. We'll have no worries finding homes for them."

"Draco, they're mongrels."

"That too. Let's not worry about that at the moment, though. Antonia's got the situation under control. I'll see if Mrs Fullaghar is up to talking about it tonight. But maybe I won't mention it to her. Not straight away." Gardie brought damp cloths and both men wiped their hands. Draco brushed himself down, and Lucius checked for stray stains on the linen. Somehow he had managed to avoid mud, cake, beer and worse, and still looked as cool and contained as he had when the day started.

"Draco?"

Draco, who had been about to head out, stopped and turned back.

"Yes, Father?"

"What's _Glam_?"

Draco laughed. "I'll play some for you tonight. I don't think you'll like it, though." He turned and headed out, and Lucius went back to his chair and the latest edition of the Prophet, which had arrived during the afternoon.

________________________________________

Chapter 10

________________________________________

"I know who he is."

"Who?"

"That bloke. That Lucius fellow, the one in the Manor."

"That's what you said last time, Andy, and how wrong were you."

"Was not."

"You said he was a rock star."

"Nah, that's what my Suzie said. _I_ think he's an actor."

"You said he wasn't one."

"Did not! I said I didn't think he was a movie star. Not enough screaming fan girls."

"Andy, you're full of it. Well, go on."

The gaffer took a drink, refusing once more to be hurried. "Sam, you'll give yerself an ulcer if you keep worrying like that."

"I'll give you summat if you don't give over, Andy. So – who the hell do you think Mr Malfoy is?"

"He's a telly type. An announcer, or soapie star. Or p'raps one of them sports types. Tennis. Played at Wimbilydon back in the seventies."

"Tennis? You've got to be barmy!"

"Don't think so." Andy took another sip of the beer. "I've seen him swishing his hand around, just like he's got a racket in it. I reckon he was that nice young blond boy was such a hit back when they wus just starting to grow their hair."

"We could ask him?"

"What? _'scuse me Mister Malfoy but did you used to be Boris McDonald and did you play tennis?_ I don't bloody think so. Did you see how he looked when he got angry? Catch me going near that, I don't think."

Sam put his drink down. "For once, I agree with you. Poor Mrs Fullaghar left three days after the fête, and hasn't come back. But I don't think he's a tennis player."

"Mark my words, young lad."

"Go to hell, Andy." And Sam finished his drink and left.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes
> 
> For those that aren't quite as old as I am, the Glam rock bands mentioned above (and some of their bigger hits) are as follows:
> 
> Mud – _Tiger Feet_
> 
> Wizzard – _Wish it could be Christmas every day_
> 
> Slade – _Mama We're all Crazy Now_
> 
> The _Soft Serves_ may just have been based on the Sweet. Their hits included _Peppermint Twist_ and _Ballroom Blitz_.
> 
> The other bands mentioned (or songs) were:
> 
> TheWho – _My Generation_
> 
> RickAstley – _Never Gonna Give You Up_
> 
> TheTurtles – _So Happy Together_
> 
> SpiceGirls – _Wannabe_


End file.
